Another Vantage Point
by RococonoKokoro
Summary: What happened in the locker room, from Dave Karofsky's view. Spoilers for 'Never Been Kissed'. One-shot. Updated and edited.


Third period had just ended. Karofsky was one of the first out of geometry class. His broad shoulders and substantial height, paired with his lettermen's jacket and glowering look, ensured that he had a clear path through the mass of high schoolers in the hallway.

He idly looked around for a target as he walked the halls, heading for the locker room. He noticed Kurt Hummel, or "lady-face", as he liked to call him, walking slowly towards him, looking at a cell phone and smiling. '_What's he so damn happy about?_', Karofsky wondered as he quickened his pace a bit, relishing the thought of wiping the smile right off those feminine, pink lips- '_wonder how they'd feel? No, no way. Hummel's a queer. Queer as they come. Not going there._'

The big hockey player strode right up to Hummel, slapping the phone out of his grip and practically throwing him into a locker in one practiced move. Turning around, he was pleased to see Kurt no longer smiling but looking upset and angry. He nodded a little to himself at eliciting the appropriate expression, '_that's what you get for being a homo'_, then continued walking toward the locker room.

While he couldn't see the Glee club member's expression change to one of resolve combining with the anger, he could hear him. "Hey!"

Karofsky continued walking, reaching his locker and opening it in defiance of the male soprano, whom he was sure wouldn't actually come through that closed door. At least, he hoped not.

The door slammed open and the jock saw, out of the corner of his eye, Kurt Hummel framed in the doorway, yelling. "I am talking to you!" Karofsky, suddenly uncomfortable, retorted, "The girls' locker room's next door." He pulled out his tennis shoes and tried to ignore the angry (_beautiful_) boy, making sure not to look at him. Why did the locker room suddenly feel so small? It felt much bigger with ten other beefy football players in it than it did now, just him and Hummel.

"What is your problem?" Kurt demanded, striding over to his locker.

(_You are._) Putting his shoes on the bench, he turned to face Hummel. "Excuse me?"

"What are you so scared of?" Kurt asked from a mere foot away.

(_How attracted I am to you._) "'Sides you sneakin' in here to peek at my junk?" Karofsky sneered back, bending to get his things stuffed into his duffel bag, praying that the effeminate Glee club member would leave. (_Don't leave me alone like this._) '_Get out of here, get out of my space, get out of my head..._'

"Oh, yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you! Well, guess what, Hamhock? You're not my type."

Karofsky jerked his head up to look at Kurt as the words "not my type" caught his attention, licking his lip unconsciously. '_What is your type?_' "That right?" he blustered, trying to cover up his reaction. (_Why not? Girls like me, why can't you?_)

"Yeah. I don't dig on chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty," the other teen spat.

His face twisting in a rictus of rage at the insults, Karofsky advanced. "Do not push me, Hummel!" he ground out, raising a fist for emphasis. '_Get the fuck out of my face!_' (_What if you said I was your type, what then?_)

Kurt looked at his fist then back up. "You gonna hit me?" he asked the heavily-breathing jock. "Do it."

Karofsky slammed his locker shut. "Don't push me!" ('_Too close. He's too close.'_)

"Hit me, 'cause it's not gonna change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you!" Kurt shot back defiantly.

"I said get outta my face!" the taller boy screamed, reaching the end of his restraint. '_Oh God get out of here get out of my head get out of my face he's so close I-_'

Kurt moved in even closer, holding up a finger in Karofsky's face. "You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!"

And suddenly Karofsky's hands were gripping the sides of Kurt's face and he was kissing him with all the pent-up attraction and lust and anger and guilt that he had inside him whenever he saw Kurt Hummel in the hallway, whenever he shoved him into a locker, whenever he drenched him with a Slushie, whenever he dreamed about him and woke up sweating with sheets that were sticky with more than just perspiration. He kissed him with everything he had, and it was almost everything he had dreamed of time and again, the feeling of Kurt's lips on his only diminished by the fact that the other boy wasn't kissing back in his shock. He whimpered just a little as he pulled away, keeping a hand on Kurt's jaw as he took in the other boy's shocked look, his fist still raised, no longer defiant. Dave envied him that defiance, the ability to take whatever life handed him and keep right on going, pointed chin up and fire in his eyes. He envied Kurt the freedom to be what he was, to express himself, to be unafraid and simple and clean from the deception that Dave had to play every day, that tore at his insides and made him bleed. But now, glorious relief flooded through him, his façade heavily clanking on the floor as wonder spread through his veins at that touch, Kurt's shock only dimly registering. (_Oh, God. Don't let me go. Give me more._)

Gasping a breath, he leaned in again, eyes locked on Kurt's lips, wanting nothing more than to lose himself again in that glory. He felt himself being shoved away with a strength he never knew the slight boy had. Kurt's fist had loosened a little, but he had it raised to his lips, with a look of shock mingled with disbelief, fear and what looked like heartbreak.

Karofsky felt the blood drain from his face at Kurt's reaction, felt a prickle of... tears? at his eyes. The complete _rejection_ that Kurt's face and body language screamed was almost too much to bear. He wanted to curl up and die, right there, right now, and didn't care who saw it as long as he could sink alone into comforting blackness. Instead, he knew he had to get out of there, away from Kurt, away from the fact that he was _like Kurt_, away from Lima and his friends, away from everything. Looking at Kurt, he suddenly choked on the tight feeling in his throat. He felt betrayed, rejected. (_WHY? Why can't you, can't you help me, love me, kiss me, accept me?)_ He'd shown Kurt, the secret object of affections he'd tried not to admit even to himself, his secret and had been pushed away from the only person who could help. As the pain welled up, he turned and hit the lockers in frustration, terror, pain, heartbreak. His only way to express anything, it seemed, was through violence and the enveloping fold of anger. It couldn't erase his pain, though, or the glitter in his eyes as, choking back a sob, he locked eyes once more with Kurt and stormed out of the locker room.


End file.
